Ouroboros
by FeatheredMask
Summary: Sirius pleads with Death, and gets a second chance. His soul replaces another, leaving him having to adjust to childhood again after the horrors of Azkaban.
1. There's More?

_Chapter edited as of 4/16/15_

The seventh Harry Potter book says that Sirius died and went to the afterlife, but then I wondered, which afterlife? I used to believe that everyone would go to whichever afterlife they believed in, and so I'm taking that as inspiration. However, which afterlife would the Veil lead to, if Sirius didn't die 'properly'? Besides, it never mentioned what spell Bellatrix used. I ran with that idea and all its tangents. I love love love time travel fic; this is me getting in on the action.

Disclaimer: This is a fanfiction. Not an original story. Ideas that aren't mine, aren't mine.

* * *

><p><strong>Ouroboros<strong>

Harry's shocked expression was all Sirius saw before his vision went black. When he came to with sudden clarity, he jumped up so fast his muscles ached in protest. Wand out and a spell on his lips, Sirius was understandably confused when he found no hexes flying at him. Not that he was complaining, of course.

This meant that either a period of time had passed or he was in a different location. As sense caught up to him he realized it was the latter, as the room the battle took place in had only one door. Indeed; this room was larger than the Great Hall, and had a white dome ceiling. Doors lined every inch of the circle wall, each adorned with a unique nameplate or defining symbol.

Sirius blinked and rubbed his eyes, disbelieving for a second. He resorted to pressing on his eyes when rubbing stung them. When he brushed hair away from his face, his hand came back with dark flakes on them. He felt his hair and found it matted with dirt and dried blood. How odd; he must have been knocked out for quite a while.

In the center of the room was the Veil of Death. With the opportunity to give it more than a passing glance, Sirius reached a hand, and found a pane of glass filling the arch. Not a mirror, but transparent, like a common window. Plexiglas, the muggles called it. His attention turned to the doors. Very few of the names rang as familiar, having heard most of them from overhearing muggle conversations during his, ah, subterfuge in his animagus form. The symbols, could be found flipping through his old history textbooks. The simpler ones he'd copied in a desperate attempt to entertain himself during Binns's classes. A goblin crest here, the symbol for the dark wizards of medieval times there.

Sirius started back to examine the pane of glass, but stumbled back in shock. A bruised, spent copy of himself blinked back at him. Sirius brought a hand to his face; the copy in the mirror did the same. Dark welts and fresh scars covered his face and hand. He winced as he poked one.

"Not a chance I'm dreaming, then," Sirius muttered, managing a hollow laugh that fell flat without echo. Emotion started dawning on him, erasing the blank, blunt feel from his thoughts. Time had passed. A lot of time. Some of bruises looked barely a day old, and the deep lines under his eyes told of weeks. A memory charm, perhaps?

That possibility shook Sirius. What could have possibly happened to require a memory charm? It had to have something to do with the injuries. His blood froze. Did..?

Did the Order fail to prevent Voldemort from getting the prophecy?

Although Sirius had no inkling of what the prophecy contained, Dumbledore must have had a reason for keeping all information pertaining to it hush-hush. The Department of Mysteries was plagued with wards for another reason that may have very well been the same reason. As it was, breaking through those wards meant a heavy sentence in Azkaban, a place he'd already spent so long in. If his current state was any indication, he might have made a return trip.

Looking for a distraction to his grievances, Sirius picked a door at random, with a symbol of a hexagon filled with endless hexagons. He raised his hand to the door knob, but the door swung open for him. A tiny turtle was at the other side, at eye level with the wizard.

Sirius stepped back, more out of shock than anything else. The tiny turtle carried a blue marble on its shell, and was standing on another turtle, which stood on another turtle, which stood on yet another turtle. This turtle tower consisted of innumerable turtles. When Sirius tried to count, he never reached the bottom. When he tried to estimate, his vision shifted, making it impossible. He instead peeked past the turtle.

The room appeared to be a landscape of a large valley with a village in it. Many of the inhabitants wore old-fashioned clothing from colonial times, although he noticed a brightly-dressed modern-day muggle here and there. Sirius was about to walk in when common sense - obviously it was common sense, I mean, everyone had a fear of getting locked up with no escape, right? - told him the door might not open again. He stepped away from the door, jumping when it closed by itself, confirming Sirius's theory.

The turtle tower gave him a withering glance before making its way to another door, wobbling as it went.

A door on the other side of the room opened with a crack as it slammed into the door beside it. Moans, groans and screams floated out of it, reminding Sirius all too much of his previous dark residences. He started to walk toward it, morbid curiosity fueling this endeavor, but halted when the inscription on the door read __Azkaban__.

"Frisky little one, isn't he?"

The words came from a small ankle-biter of an animal. The one that replied to it reached Sirius's chest, the voice a deep rasp. "I do believe we broke him," commented the black wolf.

"There's plenty of time for that later," the black kitten dismissed, "should he be ours. For now we have to pick up a playmate for little Fluffy."

"And which Fluffy would that be? You name everything Fluffy."

"The one that begs us daily to join his playmate."

"Ah." They scratched at a door with a symbol of a goat on it, like common house pets asking for entrance. A goat covered in tattoos answered the door. Like neighbors bartering for a cup of milk, the animals chatted in neutral tones, finally resulting with a quivering scrawny boy being dragged back to _A___zkaban__.

Shivering, Sirius turned his attention to other doors, peeking in several. They all contained some form of environment with people of a certain sort, except one had dancing gerbils. That one made him rethink his theory on dreaming.

He circled the room, looking at each door with interest. Finally, he stopped at a white door labeled "Reincarnation." It had no doorknob, doorjamb, or anything to pry it open; only a knocker. So he threw caution to the wind, and knocked.

There was a muffled ping from inside and the door colored an eye-burning hot pink. Something tapped Sirius on the shoulder.

He turned to find a Death Eater behind him. His wand had raised and almost completed a spell before realizing no minion of Voldemort would ever decorate their mask as garishly as that. Sirius ignored the mock Death Eater for a moment to bang his head on the door. Garish? He spent too much time at Grimmauld Place with Molly if he was paying that much attention to decoration that he could say more than an objective good or bad. The cloaked figure tilted its head and Sirius finally realized it was floating. If it hadn't been hunched over, Sirius had little doubt it would be taller than he.

"What are you?" he asked, before he could stop himself and wonder how to best go about avoiding antagonizing it.

"What am I?" the figure echoed, with a guttural voice. "Who am I? Those questions are one and the same when asking. To you, my dear elf, I-"

"Elf?" Sirius parroted with an internal squawk at himself for interrupting something that might very well decide how he died. He jumped in the hole he no doubt dug himself. "I'm not an elf. Do I look like an elf to you?"

The figure lost its guttural tone, taking the voice of a gentlemanly old man. "Ah. My apologies. I am nothing. You never saw me. Death shall find you soon."

Sirius ignored the ominous warning coupled with a casual tone. It was odd and out of place with those words. The figure flew to another door and disappeared. At another tap on his shoulder, Sirius whirled around. Curses poured from his mouth out of shock and cruel surprise. He sunk to his knees.

"That's it. I'm dead." His voice cracked, choked with emotion. "I'll never see Harry again. Take me to the afterlife, Death."

The figure before him was unmistakable. Twice as tall as the average man, cloak pooling in all directions, an elongated skeleton with more power than any inferius, Death loomed. The story of the Deathly Hollows had attempted to reach the heights of this deity, but had failed like any other literature would fail the same description. Words could not match the godly presence. Kneeling as he was, Sirius had himself at the mercy of his undoer.

With a monotone that would make Snape flinch, Death drawled, "That's hardly possible, seeing as we're in the Room of Afterlives and you requested to be reincarnated."

Room of Afterlives? As in, more than one? That aside, Sirius scrabbled for the hope even with this figure that commanded so much respect. "Reincarnated? I have another chance to get to know Harry?"

Death flourished a skeletal hand, delicately handing Sirius a familiar black stick. "Perhaps."

Sirius took it with reverence, hand wrapping around the runes as a hole in his magical core filled in. The tip of the wand glowed an ethereal light blue, as it had so many years ago in Olivander's. Simple, but the color of Patroni, a hue thought impossible to recreate.

"Recreation is an unpredictable thing. The chances of your new body coming near Harry Potter, or even a wizard, is extremely small."

"What if I go back in time?" He scrabbled for his rapidly disappearing smattering of hope. "It's possible, right? To be reborn and grow up with Harry?"

"Impossible. You and who you once were cannot exist at the same time. That would create a paradox."

Sirius tried his hardest not to look crestfallen. He must have failed, for Death hesitated.

"However, the Masters of Plot-Ripping might be willing to grant you your wish."

"'__Masters of Plot-Ripping__'?" Sirius didn't bother to hide the incredulity in his voice.

"They have other titles of course, but many prefer to call them that. They push the boundaries of what they can do as far as they can, often tearing holes in fate. Fate so often follows something of a plot in a story, and thus, Masters of Plot-Ripping. You want to be close to an object of fate, which I'm sure will be the bait needed to request their service."

"Then where are they?" Sirius looked around, half expecting to see someone with a broken hourglass appear. Owners of Time-Turners often had to be warned about creating paradoxes. It just made a giant mess for everyone, but maybe this time a paradox wouldn't be so bad.

Death glided over to a door whose title his body obscured, and rapped it twice. Two knocks responded. Death sighed, as if dealing with a snarky teenager.

"I have a request."

The door whipped open, two figures bounding out to circle Death. Sirius felt his eyes widen.

"You summoned?"

"What is your desire?"

"Not mine." Death lifted a long wooden finger in the direction of Sirius. "His."

The animals' ears twitched and their heads snapped to him like a clockwork toy. "You desire?" The cat and wolf chanted in unison.

Death answered for him, making it pointless to point out the wizard in the first place. "He wishes to be the same age as Harry James Potter and able to watch him."

"Impossible," the cat said in a clipped tone. "He has not died properly in his dimension and as such, cannot return anytime after."

The wolf stared at the ceiling. It suggested, "What about another dimension?"

The cat looked at the ceiling, her eyes moving as though searching for something. Sirius joined them, but found nothing but the white dome. Mad, they were. Mad as his dead family.

"That is possible. Yet, we do not meddle with time, so we have to find one where Sirius Orion Black is already dead."

It sent shivers through Sirius to think about himself being dead, but shook it off. This was a chance to see Harry and everyone else again. He could withstand the occasional cognitive dissonance if it meant being with his godson for even a snippet longer.

"We can't start a life too young or it will affect Harry's creation and marking."

"No openings in wizard children. Too risky. They're all either currently influential to fate or will be. Why don't we drop him in a field as Harry's age?"

"We can't create anything more than a pregnancy and you know it!" the wolf snapped. "The most we can hope for is a soul transfer."

"I know...wait! I spot an opening. A reincarnation. He's had his life and a half. Telltale sign: he only appears in that dimension."

"Everything seems to match the requirements, including a perfect excuse for a new soul's sudden appearance."

They turned to Sirius, now speaking in unison. "Your new fate has been decided. We are your Death. After you die properly, our home will become yours."

Sirius cheered himself with assurances of seeing Harry again. The screams so familiar to the soundtrack of his prison cell clawed at the edges of his mind.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Notes<em>

This chapter is vaguely horror-ish, but future chapters will be more adventure and humour. The original idea was for Sirius to travel to all sorts of afterlives and getting fed up with all of them. I changed it right at the beginning, which was for Sirius to be reincarnated as an owl, and thus start his annoying journey.

*If you're wondering, the turtle was from something I read in a book on physics. (Not exact words, but close): Scientist: *finishes presentation on general Earth information* Old lady: That's a lie. The world is flat. Scientist: *smiles* What is under the world? Old lady: A turtle, of course. Scientist: The what is the turtle standing on? Old lady: Very clever. But I'll have you know it's turtles all the way down!

**The hunched-over Death that assumed he was an elf was the House-Elf Death.

The wolf and cat are leftovers from another fic. They're a representation of the writer, in essence. It's a vapid attempt to make fun of these "break the fourth wall" tropes. The entire thing is Sirius lampshading everything that everyone else takes in stride. He's the Only Sane Man here.


	2. Irony on Trial

_Chapter edited as of 4/17/15_

**Ouroboros**

The fireplace flared green, an old man walking out, soot falling away from the hem of his robes. An observer of your age would presume him years under his actual age, so smooth was his gait, so focused were his eyes, so fluidly he settled into his chair. Only a child's estimate of an exaggerated age would be correct.

The sigh he let out told much more of his age, carrying the full brunt of over a hundred years with it. For him, too much had happened in that single day. Too much to ignore. Too much to see the light hiding inside. This toll weighed heavy on him right then as he processed the various feelings.

An owl flew lighted outside the window, pausing to push open the pane before sweeping in, dropping a letter on his desk. He glanced at the flourished _M__M_ stamped in wax to seal it - Ministry of Magic - and put his head in his hands with another sigh.

The Ministry of Magic, from where he had just floo-traveled, had erupted in chaos. Too many needed revisions. Too much had to be checked. Too much reinforcement of laws. Too much to be ignored. Dementors had to be destroyed, replacements to be found, criminal files to be checked, Veritaserum to be administered, criminal activity to be monitored.

An entire courtroom of wizards had their views and thoughts challenged that day. All because of the plea of one child. One from his own school, a student did the research into politics and magical law, culminating in a thorough essay on the follies and reparations of the rushed jurisdictions during the last wizarding war. In the essay, he included an informal closing: "Please, give my father the trial he never had. Let me have a father."

The boy had been absent at the trial, due to complications after a Dementor attack that put him in St Mungo's. This troubled the Wizengamot. Even more so that they couldn't call it a lie, as long as the Healers had the evidence of Dementor effects on paper and magic.

It caused no little amount of stir in the Wizengamot when Aurors dragged in Sirius Black, even though all of them had been informed that the case had been reopened. He didn't scream obscenities (although he did glare) and could walk without assistance. He spoke coherently after a glass of water, and gaped when they brought in the clear vial of Veritaserum. Once the questioning began, thoughts changed and shouting matches commenced.

* * *

><p>The answers came prompt from Sirius's mouth. "I was the Secret Keeper of the Fidelius cast on the Potter home in Godric's Hollow for five months-"<p>

The wizards of the Wizengamot nodded, writing down that exact number as it came forth. Another Ministry employee rose to ask a question of the accused, preparing his parchment of questions

"-before Peter became the Secret Keeper."

That stilled the questioner. He sat back down, as two more rose. One conceded to the higher position, and returned to his seat. The other one demanded, "What happened that night?"

So Sirius restarted his story, already told a few times from various reworded questions in this past few hours. "Voldemort came to Godric's Hollow-"

Cornelius waved him on. "Not that, when you realised what Peter did."

"At first I thought the information had been tortured out of him. Then I found him running around of his own free will, clutching his arm like a lifeblood, shivering like the coward he is. When I asked him what happened, he admitted to being a Death Eater. I hit him with a curse as he fired another curse that obscured my vision. I laughed and cried, and that was how the Aurors found me."

Silence. No one wanted to speak and be the beginning of a rift in the Ministry, especially since many had been adamant that Peter receive an Order of Merlin. No one wanted to call him a liar, as Veritaserum did not lie and suspicion would fall on anyone who argued.

Obviously, not everyone had the same qualms.

With a 'hem hem', Dolores Umbridge brought up her haughty objections, "That's a tall tale, Mr. Black. Are you sure you didn't imagine all of that?"

"I have not been taking hallucinogenic drugs nor been diagnosed with any like condition," came the dry response filtered through Veritaserum.

"Mr. Pettigrew was an upstanding citizen. Are you confusing yourself with Mr. Pettigrew?"

"No. He showed me the Dark Mark before I incanted the curse."

"On whose arm?"

The answer came prompt. "Peter's."

Umbridge had a hard time controlling her expression, purple in the face, clashing horribly with her pink cardigan. "He didn't even pull up his sleeve. The witnesses didn't-"

"Dolores," Cornelious interrupted, his voice stern. He stared at his clenched hands, struggling to keep his face stoic. "The letter we received addressed that issue. All witnesses blew up from a curse after the first was cast, and we never bothered to perform _prior__i__ incantatem_ on Mr. Black's wand before breaking it. The report that there were any living witnesses was a misnomer."

"Who wrote this letter!" Umbridge screeched, several Ministry officials wincing at her ear-grinding pitch. "I demand to know!"

Amelia Bones shot up from her seat. "It is not relevant to this case, and as such, we must respect his privacy."

"He could be working alongside Mr. Black! He could be lying and even changing the reports!"

Her accusation shocked the members of the Wizengamot, and many faces dawned with horror as they remembered cases such as this one, where no one questioned the reports and Veritaserum only administered when brought up by a required number of petitioners. Clamor went up as they fretted over past cases and demanded to know the identity of the writer. Bones scowled, having listened to the phrase "take everything with a grain of salt" from a young age. Soon everyone had their arms up, demanding to know the messenger.

After a fiasco involving Dumbledore insisting Voldemort was back two years prior, Cornelius and the Wizengamot had agreed that Dumbledore not to disturb court, but was still entitled to attend. So, Dumbledore had sat off to the side under a silencing charm in that meeting. His face flashed through a wide range of emotions throughout the questioning, and though regret dominated, a small twinkle of curiosity shone through.

Cornelius, defeated, gave in. "Ouroboros Sirius Black."

Sirius cracked a smile, breaking through the emotionless Veritaserum. "My s-son?" His voice brimmed with tears. "My son saved me?"

"See?" Umbridge screeched, pointing a pink-tipped nail, a twisted sneer on her face.

"Had this been any other case, I would side with you, Dolores. But with the use of Veritasrum, I see no point in questioning the validity of the interrogation, as it has already been answered," stated Bones in the formal tone required for such a case. Her request to Cornelius was equal in tone.

"Minister, I request that Dolores Umbridge be escorted from the courtroom for her disruptions."

Cornelius, left trembling from the entire case, nodded his ascent. Two Aurors placed a body-bind on the woman and led her out the door.

When they turned their attention back to the case and the interrogated, they had somehow missed the Dementor freed from its cage in the corner. It had waited long enough for dinner. Sirius Black, nothing more than a vegetable, drooled at the chair in the center of the courtroom dais.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Notes<em>

I am confused with capitalizing things in this. Time isn't linear. It's more of a timey-wimey wibbly-wobbly...mess of yarn after a cat's gotten into it. Two hundred words added in editing. Much wording changed. Spelling corrections. Fleshed out where needed. No plot changes, added to Ministry law procedure, some reactions slightly altered.


	3. Ouroboros

Sirius blinked open gummy eyes. He raised his hands to rub his face, noting they felt sluggish, like he had just woken up. His cleared eyes revealed him to be in a white hospital bed, in a small white room. St Mungo's, he thought. At the end of the bed towered a myraid of wizarding candy. Sirius could see that someone had painstakingly arranged the collection into a ziggurat. Which brought to mind history lessons on Aztec and Mayan warlocks.

Sirius pulled himself into a sitting position, but the fact that he did it so fast puzzled him. How big everything seemed added to his confusion. Since he already took stock of the room, he took stock of himself. His mouth dropped open. It turned in a smile. The 'soul transfer' had worked. He had a young teenage body and would no doubt join his godson at Hogwarts.

"I see you're finally awake, Ouroboros. Good morning."

The implications of the word 'finally' caught Sirius with its strange familiarity that meant something bad, and asked, "How long have I been out?"

"A week, nothing more. Your uncle was very worried, and still is. Your cousin came by, bringing gifts from all of your friends."

Sirius blinked. That explained the candy. The healer continued on.

"You gave us all a fright. Your reaction is exactly why we keep Dementors on such a short lease."

"Dementors? What happened?"

"You and your cousin got separated from your guardian. You two went through the exit in Vertic Alley-"

Before he could stop himself, Sirius asked, "Vertic Alley? What's that?"

The healer frowned and wrote something on the clipboard he carried. Slowly, he asked, "Can you tell me your name again?"

"S-" Sirius cut himself off. The idea of a soul transfer implied that he was in someone else's body, and the fact that the healer had called himself something different reinforced that idea. He floundered about for ideas before falling back to the bed with a defeated sigh. With sheepish mirth, he suggested, "Black?"

The healer narrowed his eyes accusingly at Sirius, but before he could say anything, the door knocked.

The healer drew the curtain to hide Sirius from sight. This annoyed Sirius, as he saw no point to it and now couldn't see what went on. He heard a door open and two people walk in, silent as though dreading bad news.

"Now, I must first say the boy is very lucky."

There was an audible sigh of relief and a creak of a chair as someone sank into it.

"He really was lucky. It's not known what effects Dementors have on the growing cores of children, and there's theory that Dementors have adverse effects, such as deterioration of weak magical cores."

Sirius scoffed. Him? Have a weak magical core? He thought not!

"Of course this theory is in part due to us never finding a child that got away after exposure to Dementors. For all we know, exposure might kill children. Your daughter's core has settled, but we might very well have another Boy-Who-Lived. However-"

Sirius heard a sharp creak, probably from the person in the chair suddenly stiffening.

"-his core is fluctuating, trying to cope with what seems to be an influx of magic. The core is damaged, and it's what we usually see in patients who've spent years in Azkaban."

Another voice spoke up, weary and distantly familiar. "I see. D-does that mean he can't do-" The word caught in his throat. "-m-magic?"

Th healers voice was devoid of emotion. "It's uncertain if the magic flow will settle or if the extra magic will kill him. The most we can do is wait for one of them to happen."

The man choked on a sob.

"In the meantime, don't let him cast any spells nor cast any on him. He's finally awake, but bring him in every day for tests so we can find a treatment. Being in a familiar environment will help him relax and heal."

Sirius wanted to slap the healer. He said there was nothing that could be done and waited until the man was crying before saying they could find treatment options.

A third voice announced itself. A small girl's voice, filled with the misty tone Trelawney always failed to achieve. "He's awake? When can we see him?"

"He's right behind the curtains, but, ah-"

The privacy curtains were pulled wide with a shout of, "Ouro!"

Sirius froze like a deer in headlights, fumbling for his wand before he realized he didn't have one. His high-strung nerves calmed when he recognized the girl as one of the kids who'd followed Harry to the Department of Mysteries. He hadn't had a chance to look at her clearly, but he remembered the moon-glow hair. However, this girl looked younger than Harry. Not too young, but barely tall enough to qualify attending Hogwarts. She was one of the 'midgets', as Sirius had been fond of calling them.

The little girl's smile melted into a frown. "You're not Ouro."

The healer scratched his head. "Er, well, I suppose that's one way to say it, but he's lost his memory."

"Lost..?" the girl's father asked.

"Side effect of the trauma of the attack, I expect. He won't be the same, but-"

The girl interrupted him, taking Sirius's hand and shaking it. "I'm Luna Lovegood, and this is my father, Xenophilious Lovegood. he's going to be your uncle. I'll be your cousin. I know you're not Ouro, but everyone else will think otherwise. Ouroboros Sirius Black is your new name."

Sirius blinked, shocked at Luna's reaction. Still holding his hand, she pulled him off the bed and out the door.

"I have to show you the Herbology room! We can find Humdingers and Nargles there!"

* * *

><p>Vertic Alley doesn't exist in the HP world, as realized by Sirius. It exists in this alternate dimension, though. One of the differences in this world. The idea of sending Sirius to another dimension at a young age was inspired by Harry Potter and Morrighan's Gift. That story has two other versions, written by different people.<p>

The healer's personality was fun to write. On that note, Sirius will pick apart my writing and every twist of the plot and every situation he finds himself in. That's what makes this story funny.

Also, on the note of how Sirius will act: he'll act like a teenager. Azkaban messed him up, and Sirius regressed to a childlike persona as a coping mechanism. He's like that in the fifth book. A ton of people in the books need therapy, judging by their ordeals and personality afterwords, and they don't get it. Harry needs the most therapy (coughgodcomplexcough), but Sirius comes in a close second. Bellatrix is the most obviously messed-up, but with Sirius, his mentality is too much like that of a child's to converse properly with his peers.


End file.
